Sight, Given to Those Who Have Lost Theirs
by Decievably Innocent
Summary: When his world is overrun by darkness, he can finally see light.
1. Chapter 1

"Why do you have to be so mean to me all the time?!"

"I'm not being mean, I'm being logical!"

"What's the difference?!"

And on went another pointless argument about nothing, exchanged by none other than the physical personafications of the countries of England and the United States of America, or just America, if you prefer.

And, as such, there is supposedly no point to record this fight. But really, there is. You will just have to wait for it.

So I will continue writing down their fight, which has changed while you are reading what I am typing, as you will see after I finish this sentence.

"My cooking has nothing to do with this! And it's fine nonetheless!"

"It's fine in a strange and parallel world called the United Kingdom, and there only is it fine."

"Urgh! You never, _ever_-"

**Honk.**

**Swerve.**

**Scream****_._**

_**Crash.**_

In the millisecond of the pause between words that these countries were exchanging, a red Ferrarri had streamed across the road, honked at them while they were suspended in argument, and had swerved slightly in response to the driver screaming at them and having to readjust his course.

Naturally, and quite predictably, the sleek black Mustang the two nations were in decided to speed up a little. Easily enough to synchronize the unexpected slight swerve, the burst of speed the American gave the engine permission to carry out, and the less-than-great attention any of the beings in the car gave to where they were headed, in a way to make sure that the Ferrarri crashed into the upper right hand side of the right side of the car, sending glass shards everywhere.

Sending glass shards into the right side of the car.

Sending glass shards straight at England.


	2. Chapter 2

Inhaling sharply in a peircing gasp, England awoke. At least, he thought he awoke. He was standing up, in a world of darkness, obsidian nothing at his feet and the brim of space, too far for any stars to take shelter, above his head and all around him.

He looked around, then down at himself to make sure that he wasn't blind. He saw his body clear as day, in the long robe he used to wear in the 1700's. He was surprised, but not exactly shocked at the sight of his attire, and he looked around him again.

"England!"

Snapping his head to straight in front of him in surprise, he saw a sight he thought he would never again see: a boy, about five years older than he was at birth, hair as tan and delacate as the wheat they stood in, the trademark cowlick standing out proudly, in a blue dress-like outfit.

He was surprised, looking at the child in awe. He hadn't seen this sight for ages, and it seemed like such a rush to the nation, who was older now than when this image fit into history.

"America!"

He suddenly choked on the nothing that was surrounding him, bowing his head and leaning forward to ease the pain at least slightly, to no avail.

"England!"

England blinked and looked up. What stood before him was no longer a full child, but rather a young man, appearing to be ten years older than the last apparation of him. He was wearing an auburn vest over a ten dress shirt, with the same tan hair as before, if not longer, to suit his now larger smiling face.

"America..!"

The pain was back, successfully making him double over again in agony. It hurt all over, and he couldn't explain where it's origins were. But he knew where he had felt it before. Looking down, he realized, with sickening recognition, where exactly he had felt it before.

"England."

He used some of his remaining strength to look up at the man who had just spoken. His mentality could only barely process the pain and the sense of defeat that he got from what his mind was telling his eyes they were seeing.

The young man had changed slightly, but enough to easily recognize. What stood before him was a soldier, dressed in a blue uniform that had white straps running down to the man's torso. His hair was still it's same color and form, but the now longer hair framed a different face. The face that he knew to be smiling was now looking down at him as if his entire family was dead, that same face of sorrow and false sympathy that he had seen so many times ago.

"A-America..."

The pain was unbearable now, as it swept throughout his old and young body without any mercy. He finally collapsed to the ground, but as he was falling, he heard a strong and unsteady voice, saying a phrase he had come to despise.

"You used to be...so great..."

Those words hit him with the impact of a missle, making him gasp and thrash against the white bedsheets. His eyes opened up wide, a sudden agonizing pain shooting through them as he did, but the only thing that met them was darkness. He couldn't see. It was all black. He timidly reached up and touched the space where his eyes were, meeting a thin cloth that covered his sight.

"...England?"


	3. Chapter 3

England, upon hearing his name said in almost the same way all the apparations had said it in the dream, snapped his head up blindly, attempting to look at the person who had just spoken. Of course, he couldn't see exactly where he was looking (basically, he was staring at a picture of the human mind on the wall, just to the right of his target), so he had to guess.

"E-England...? You're awake?"

"...America?"

"Yeah, it's me. Are you feeling alright?"

Stupid American.

"Other than the stabbing pain in my eyes whenever I try to open them and the fact that I can't move my left arm, I'm perfectly fine. How about you?" England stated, obvious sarcasm dripping off each word.

A slight laugh. "I'm fine, not as bad as you. Do you...remember what happened?"

England sighed. "We were in the car when some wanker decided to hit us. What's not to remember?"

"Well, do you remember what happened earlier? In this hospital?"

"Of course not, I must've been unconcious."

"Ah, I see you're awake."

They both turned to the new voice (Well, England turned in the direction of a model of a human skeleton), and what America saw was Dr. Ellensburgh, the doctor that had looked after England while he was recovering.

"...Who are you?" England asked warily.

"My name is Dr. Ellensburgh, pleased to meet you." the good doctor said as he offered England an outstretched hand. Which, of course, was no use to England, who had adjusted his point of view to be in the direction of Dr. Ellensburgh, or at least within a few feet.

Seeing his mistake, the doctor brought his hand back to his side before bringing out a clipboard and looking at it closely.

"I suppose you're wondering why there are bandages on your eyes?"

England huffed. "Perhaps a little."

Dr. Ellensburgh readjusted his glasses sightly. "A few pieces of glass had buried themselves into your eyes, nearly cutting them completely open. We managed to stitch them shut as best we could, along with trying to repair the mechanisms inside, but it's a gamble to say that they will be able to see."

England tried to open his eyes wide, but America's former words were backed up by the sudden pain making him close them once more.

"Your bandages should be ready to come off now, if you would like." the doctor said calmly.

England felt an unwanted pang of fear coarse through him, but he quickly tried to banish it to partial avail. He nodded, and reached up to his bandages with shaky hands

Unbeknownst to England, America had sqeezed his pale, baby blue eyes shut, as if it were a dream and that would make him wake up. Guess how that worked out for him?

Finally undoing the last part of the banadages covering his eyes, letting them fall onto the white hospital bed he layed upon. He readied himself for opening them up and meeting his fate, when a question formed in his mind.

"Wait, if you stiched them shut, then wouldn't there be stitches on my eyes?"

"The material we used is designed to dissolve when the chemical flow in your eyes is regulated mostly."

England sighed. "Oh." He wanted the doctor to say that he was right, he couldn't open his eyes again for a while and face the truth. But that hope was dashed, and although he didn't want to be, England was truly scared.

But he couldn't show that. So he slowly opened his eyes, blinking all too often due to the pain. What he saw was a dark blur of what appeared to be America's worried face, but he had to close them again due to the pain. He tried again, this time the image was darker and more blurry than the last, and the apin that was lesser compared to the last wave forced him to shut them.

The final try was upon him, and this time when he opened them, there was only a slight tinge of annoyance lingering somewhere behind his eyes, but no real pain. The downside was the fact that now, England couldn't see a thing. He tried to blink to clear his eyes, but all he saw was black.

America gasped audibly, his voice shaky.

"Oh..Oh no, England...your pupils...they're white..."

England's damaged eyes widened, and he turned in the genaral direction of Dr. Ellensburgh.

Said doctor adjusted his glasses again.

"Indeed. I'm very sorry, we tried all we could. But I'm afraid that it was all in vain.

England, unable to process the situation, said with a shaky voice: "Wh-What do you mean?"

"England, I'm truly sorry, but I'm afraid you're blind."


	4. Chapter 4

England froze, not moving a muscle, his unseeing eyes wide. '_No, no, they're wrong. Is this a joke? Did they even take the bandages off yet?' _He reached up and touched the area around his eyes, but only feeling smooth skin. '_This...This doesn't feel real. Wait, maybe it isn't? Maybe this is another dream. Another nightmare. I didn't wake up yet, did I?' _He thought, trying to explain to himself why he could only see black. He listened to his denying thoughts, but didn't come even close to believing himself.

Meanwhile, America was fighting back tears. '_No. Heroes don't cry. Don't even think about it,' _his mind told him,_ 'Don't scare him.' _He cleared his throat, attempting to make his voice sound sturdy. "B-But, it's temporary, right?" he asked, crossing his fingers on his lap.

Dr. Ellensburgh shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid not. The damage to his eyes was too servere for us to completely fix in one shot. I'm sorry."

America stared at the doctor disbelievingly. "N-No, you can't be sorry. Try again! Give him another operation! Y-You can't just shut the door on us!" he yelled at Dr. Ellensburgh.

Said doctor shook his head again. "I'm sorry, but we can't-"

"Try! I can't have him blind, that can't happen! I won't accept it."

Throughout America's fit, England had just been staring into nothing, barely hearing America through his pounding heart. He couldn't be blind, he has to see in order to do ordinary, key things! He shook his head, attempting to clear it so he could think. If he was blind, then he wouldn't be able to fight, at least well. He could be attacked in this state, and he wouldn't be able to see the enemy to decide a strategy! He clutched his chest, his breathing quickening and his body shaking. _'This isn't isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real.' _he thought to himself over and over again. '_It can't be. I need my eyes.'_

"I'll...leave you alone for now." the doctor said uncertainly before walking out the door.

"H-Hey, wait! You still have some explaining to do!" he shouted at him, nearly running through the door himself, but then he saw England and stopped.

"E-England, I...I don't know what to say," he said, shakily.

"You don't have to say anything. Words won't fix it," England replied, bluntly and unsteadily. '_It's not real. It's not. It can't be.'_ he thought, his now pale, wide eyes staring down at his lap.

America just stood there for a second, mouth opening and closing repeatedly. He finally moved to the bleak, white hospital bed and sat down next to England, who had closed his eyes tight. "E-England, I...I'm sorry," he said, looking at England in anguish.

"It's not your fault. Why do you Americans always apologize for things that are none of your concern? I'm blind, and nothing can change that now," he said, his voice cracking and unsteady.

America looked down at his own hands. "We...We do it when there's no one else who will," he said. "We're sorry we couldn't do anything."

"Well you could've done something!" England suddenly shouted, eyes tearing up. "If you had just stayed quiet in that car, then none of this would've happened! It's your fault, you bastard!" he said frantically. He fell onto the bed and buried his face in the pillow.

America froze where he was, a mixture of extreme shock and hurt from England's words. "E-England-" he began.

"Just leave, will you?" England said, his voice filled with tears and fear for what would come.

America winced and thought about arguing that he should stay, but stopped himself before they even started. He nodded, getting up and reluctantly walking out of the room with one last glance at the form in the covers.


	5. Chapter 5

I apologize, both my editor and I were procrastinating. But here's the next chapter. I'm going to be updating rather quickly now, I have ideas.

Enjoy.

* * *

Waiting rooms always reminded him of the times when he was waiting for bad news, waiting in a room where a doctor will come in and tell you that one of your friends has passed. Where an officer from your enemy's country will tell you that you've lost. The scenarios America thought of were worse than this.

England needed his eyes. He needed them to fight, to know when someone was sneaking up on him, to see when someone is about to attack him. Not only that, but knowing the stubborn Englishman, he needed them to keep living on his own, as he wouldn't let America or anyone else take care of him.

Where was he going to learn how to live? Was he even going to? Will he die because of this?

The thoughts of distress trapped in his worried mind felt like they were making a bomb that was going to explode at any minute. When a young nurse tapped him on the shoulder, he jumped a little and nearly snapped his neck to look at her. She didn't flinch much, probably because this isn't the first time that has happened, and informed him that England (Arthur, she was a human and called him as such) was ready to leave. America was too; this hospital gave him too many memories.

He stayed where he was, when a different doctor led Arthur out of the hallway. It almost broke his heart, Arthur's lifelessness. His now dull eyes were downcast, and his expression looked... sad. Arthur had only allowed Alfred to see that face on rare occasions; he was never one to show the emotions that weren't anger or annoyance. His usually wild and vibrant golden hair seemed to pale, and it had lost it's frenzied, messy appearance with the way it was limp and patted down.

Alfred nearly looked down himself, he couldn't stand seeing Arthur like this, but he couldn't in front of the doctors. So he nodded and patted Arthur's hand, silently taking it and leading him toward the parking lot.

Arthur wasn't thinking when Alfred took his hand, his mind was too occupied with the worry that didn't concern his pride. He constantly told himself that he would be able to get through this, that he was a country and therefore was able to get over things with a more positive success rate than humans. But he knew that was a lie.

Alfred stopped suddenly, and Arthur almost ran into him before he realized that his footsteps had ceased. He processed a sound of a car door opening (the handle clicking and the soft sound it made were apparent) and put one of his hands out in front of him, mapping out where the door was, and stepping accordingly. Alfred's hand was on his shoulder to make sure that he didn't fall, and when Arthur successfully got into the car, he shrugged it off.

Alfred watched him with sad eyes. At least he could do that. But there will be more challenges ahead of him, and he couldn't fathom how he would get over them. He decided that he would help him. He smiled softly. He was the hero, and he would save Arthur.


	6. Chapter 6

England hadn't said anything on the long ride home.

Not that America was surprised, no one would talk in this situation. But it wasn't just that, it seemed like the Brit's mind was far away, what with the dream-like sad look he had while his useless eyes unknowingly watched the window. He didn't know what it was like, being blind. There were questions in his mind that he was desperate to ask, but he knew England had to get used to it before he asked him any questions.

England closed his eyes, and decided not to think. Tried not to worry, to remember scared he was, is. He tried to ignore the freezing, heated feeling running through his spine and chest, tried to calm his beating heart. And it worked for the most part, instead his mind drifting to other worries.

America finally arrived at his home, and parked the rental car in the driveway. He opened the door, getting out of the seat he was in, and walked to the back seat. He opened the door, tapping England's hand and holding it just enough to keep him balanced.

England took the hand for only the amount of time it took to get out of the car, then yanked it away. He didn't feel or hear another attempt to take his hand from America, so he motioned for America to start walking. When he did, England hesitated for a moment, then heard where his footsteps were sounding from and walked accordingly.

If you're thinking that England is being too calm about this, keep in mind how stubborn he is. He's doing this to show America that he can get by on his own.

America turned back to make sure England was all right, and at that moment, England tripped on the rocky pavement of the walkway to his home.

England yelped a little, but was cut off when arms caught him and brought him back up. He scowled, and fidgeted out of the other's grip. "I don't need your help." he said slowly.

America frowned, a look that he wasn't used to. "You do. You could've fell." he told England with a gentle but harsh tone. "I'll leave you alone when you learn to take care of yourself, but in the meantime you're going to have to let me take care of you."

England looked down, hiding his clenched teeth. "I can take care of myself now, so leave me alone!" he snapped, nearly yelling.

"You couldn't even get to the front door without falling, and who knows what chaos you could cause in the house." America said, taking England's hand (and ignoring his tries to get away) and walking toward the house relatively slowly.

England tried to wrench his hand away from America's, but the other was stronger than him and held fast. He reluctantly followed, still trying to regain the use of his hand. Of course, America proved to be as stubborn as he, for he didn't turn him loose. He felt that America stopped, and waited for him to unlock the door so he could go in and relax on the couch.

America did so, and walked in after warning England about the steps. England just huffed and walked in, making a point to avoid the lifts in the pavement to the door. They both walked inside, with America guiding England to the couch and England pulling his hands from America once he was safely on the sofa. He stayed upright, crossing his arms in front of him.

He wasn't going to let this get in the way. He was going to get over it himself, and nothing America did will change that.

But America had different ideas. As stated before, he was determined to help England get through this, to protect him. Whether he liked it or not.

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Just to be clear: I don't mind criticism, just so long as it's something I can fix. If it's just a personal opinion, I will try my best to please you, but don'þ make it impossible.


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